


Gunpowder

by defyaugury



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: American Major General Lance, British General Keith, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hamilton au?, M/M, Smut, but def Hamilton inspired, it's probably more of a revolutionary au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defyaugury/pseuds/defyaugury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An American Revolutionary Major General whose loyalty lies with the colonies and an upstanding British Officer under orders of King George III. When the two find each other they soon learn the only thing more explosive than their relationship is gunpowder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunpowder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood and Gore

Cannons cracked like thunder, the sound of rifles shattering the air. Blood spewed up in showers as men in heavy wool coats were thrown back. Dirt rocketed upwards in massive geysers. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but screams and destruction and death. He could hear the slush and splash of water as cannons missed and landed in the Hudson. Men were shanked through with bayonets, only to fall into a shallow, watery grave as they stumbled and fell into the river.

Water sloshed in Major General Lance Mcclain's boots as he trudged up from the shallows, Colonel Hunk Garett's arm slung across his shoulder as he hauled the massive soldier ashore. Somewhere along the way, Lance had managed to lose his horse and his rifle, leaving him with nothing but a tattered and muddied general's coat and a sword—which he couldn't reach at the moment anyways—leaving him utterly defenseless in the middle of a war zone.

Lance wheezed, sweat pouring down his face and stinging his eyes as he grit his teeth and pulled himself forward with all his might. Hunk's feet dragged in the mud behind them. Blood was smeared across his face, mud matting his hair. A deafening _boom!_ nearly knocked Lance off his feet as a cannon landed just twenty feet behind them in the water. Just a bit closer and they would have both been dead.

The war raged on, Lance hauling his unconscious colonel back to dry ground as his men fought for their lives, fought for their land, fought for their freedom. For a moment, he wondered how the hell he'd ended up in this disastrous hell of a situation to begin with. Was this really worth it? Was fighting and dying while covered in shit and mud really worth the freedom to call yourself a country? Was watching your friends die as you lay covered in someone else's blood worth the right to set your own taxes?

Then Lance's memory flashed back months ago, to when he'd ridden into town from his family's estate only to find the town in ruins. British soldiers were in every shop, every home, shoving children and dragging their mothers into the streets by their hair as they demanded quarters for the night in the name of the king. Lance sneered at the thought. The _king_. The same king that sent a warrant to seize the Mcclain household and all its property, the same king that sought to take away _everything_ his family had worked so hard to gain since landing on this miserable pit of land across the sea, the same pig of a cowardly king that dragged frightened children from their beds in order to give his soldiers a place to sleep.

Another cannon landed ten feet ahead of them. He caught sight of a boy younger than fifteen, on the ground, screaming as blood poured from a wound that was where an arm should have been. 

Rage surged through Lance, hot and boiling as he suddenly realized why he was here, why he was dragging the limp body of his best friend through mud and blood and shit in the middle of a hellish parade of death and misery. He knew why he was here. He was here to kill the British. He was here to kill every damned redcoat he saw, to shove their damned horses and cannons and ships back into the sea with his own two hands if that's what it took to get them off _their_ shores. He was going to kill every British soldier, officer, and general there was. He was going to kill them all.

There came horribly familiar _click_ and Lance froze.

That is...unless they killed him first.

Moving very carefully, Lance raised his head, the sun slowly falling on his face as he lifted it up.

Lance could hear his own ragged breathing loud and clear in his ears. He could feel Hunk's heart beating faintly against his back. He could smell the gunpowder in the air and taste the scent of blood and death on his tongue. All of that came to a stop as Lance looked up to find a British officer standing in front of him, riffle cocked and aimed right at his face and a set of bright, purple eyes staring down the barrel at Lance. Whoever this officer was, he must've lost his powdered wig in the battle, letting loose a ridiculous mess of long, pitch black hair. Lance's heart stopped in his chest. He could do nothing but stand there, a dead weight slung across his shoulders, his sword useless at his side. He could do nothing but stare death right in the face and wait for the bang.

Very slowly, the officer's finger tightened on the trigger.


End file.
